Chapter 125: The Owl Laughs

Before long, the bird, which weighed over a jin, was caught.

What surprised Zhou Yimin was that even after the guy shook it several times, the bird still didn’t wake up.

Alright then. A bird like this—if it were in the future—netizens would definitely advise against eating it, saying it would lower your IQ.

Although Zhou Yimin didn’t know what kind of bird it was, it looked a little odd, definitely a rare species. In the future, who would dare catch it? You’d be looking at a minimum three-year sentence.

Netizens had once joked: the weirder it looks, the faster the sentence; the uglier it looks, the longer the sentence.

If it’s both weird and ugly—don’t even think about touching it. One careless move and you’ll be spending your life in prison.

But for now, there was no such worry. One of the guys took the dumb bird, twisted its neck, and killed it cleanly and decisively.

Zhou Yimin thought: Well, dying in your sleep like that isn’t cruel at all.

They continued catching cicada larvae, and if they came across any strange-sounding birds, they naturally didn’t let those go either.

Terrifying cries echoed from the mountain.

“What are you scared of? Coward,” someone said, shrinking back a little, only to get scolded by the guy next to him.

“If you’re not scared, then why are you trembling?”

It did sound eerie.

“It’s an owl. Don’t be scared,” Zhou Yimin explained to everyone.

There’s a reason our ancestors called owls “death birds.”

First off, some owls just look scary—especially at night. At first glance, it really feels like they’ve come to claim your soul.

Also, their sleeping habits during the day are strange—they keep one eye open and the other closed.

This is because the back of an owl’s pupil has a reflective membrane that allows light to pass through the pupil again, greatly enhancing their night vision. But this also makes them extremely sensitive to bright light during the day.

So, when owls rest during the day, they often keep one eye closed to reduce light stimulation, while keeping the other open to stay alert to their surroundings and potential threats.

To regular folks, though, this behavior just seemed creepy and unnatural.

Then there’s their call—some owls make sounds that resemble eerie laughter. A normal person hearing it might mistake it for ghostly laughter. Of course they’d be scared!

Elders used to say, “Not afraid of a hoot, just afraid of a laugh.”

That’s because when an owl laughs, it’s said that someone nearby might soon die. That’s why older people are particularly afraid of owls, and over time, the nickname “death bird” became more widespread.

So in this era, especially in the countryside, if a kid brought an owl home, he’d definitely get beaten.

Zhou Yimin had no ill will toward owls. Though their call wasn’t pleasant, they were beneficial birds—natural enemies of mice. Someone had once counted: an owl eats about a thousand mice a year, which is roughly three per day.

“Let’s call it a night. It’s getting late,” Zhou Yimin said after glancing at the time. It was nearly eleven.

They’d had a good haul tonight—seven or eight birds, a bucket and two bags of cicada larvae.

Zhou Yimin didn’t want the birds. He let the others divide them up.

Back at home, they didn’t make any noise to wake Zhou Yimin’s grandparents. The elderly tend to be light sleepers, and once woken up, they might not fall asleep again.

They washed the cicada larvae two or three times.

Someone started a fire while Zhou Yimin poured half a bucket of oil into the pot, causing the village boys nearby to flinch in unison.

If they did that at home, their legs would get broken.

Then again, they didn’t have that much oil at home, anyway.

Once the oil was hot, they dropped in the drained cicada larvae to fry in batches.

Deep-frying doesn’t take long.

“Bring the basins over,” Zhou Yimin said in a low voice.

Everyone got their basins ready to collect the fried cicada larvae.

Zhou Yimin scooped them out and dumped them into the basins. Then he sprinkled salt and cumin powder on top and had someone mix them thoroughly.

“Smells amazing!” Someone couldn’t help but reach out to grab a bite.

Crispy on the outside, tender inside. This stuff was perfect as a drinking snack—absolutely top-tier.

“Wait till it’s all fried, then we’ll divide it,” Zhou Yimin told them.

They’d caught so many tonight that even with over a dozen people, everyone would get a good share.

They hadn’t meant to wake up Grandpa and Grandma, but they still did.

Even though they moved carefully and kept quiet, the aroma was overwhelming. Houses down the road were already lit up, let alone the people in the same house.

Grandma got up and saw them using so much oil for frying. Her heart ached!

Still, she didn’t scold Zhou Yimin—afraid it might drive her dear grandson away.

“Grandpa, Grandma, you’re up? Then you might as well eat a little before going back to sleep,” Zhou Yimin said sheepishly.

Clearly, next time they’d have to do this at someone else’s place.

The old man chuckled. “Alright, I’ll have a couple drinks.”

Zhou Yimin: “…”

I said eat, and you zeroed in on drinking.

Well, fine. It really was a great drinking snack.

Soon, Third Uncle Zhou Xuqing wandered over as well.

“So much?” He was shocked.

Zhou Yimin nodded. “There’s more.”

Someone asked, “Uncle Sixteen, are we going again tomorrow night?”

“You all go tomorrow. I probably won’t be home. As for the oil, go ahead and use it for frying. Just bring me a share each time,” Zhou Yimin told them.

Cicada larvae were best harvested in batches anyway.

There was no need to worry about wiping them out—their reproductive ability was beyond imagination.

As long as you didn’t use chemical weapons like pesticides, it was practically impossible to catch them all by hand.

Everyone was thrilled to hear that.

Their biggest worry had been the lack of oil.

Now that Zhou Yimin told them to take the oil too, that problem was solved.

He divided the fried cicada larvae, with almost everyone getting two to three jin—nearly half a basin. Zhou Yimin kept one basin for himself, and no one objected since the oil came from him.

“Uncle Sixteen, we’re heading back!”

Zhou Yimin waved. “Go on, then!”

No point keeping them. With that big group, Grandpa’s stash of liquor definitely wouldn’t be enough to go around.

As for the used oil, Zhou Dafu was tasked with saving it.

Back at home, they immediately woke up the rest of the family to eat the fried cicada larvae. Everyone dug in enthusiastically and kept singing its praises.

“We’re going again tomorrow night. The oil’s with Dafu. There’s a ton of these things in the woods. No wonder those trees looked so withered,” one of the young men told his family.

And he had just learned that cicadas were tree parasites.

Since they were pests, there was no guilt in catching them.

It was practically a public service!

“I bet once word spreads tomorrow, lots of people will head out at night,” his father said.

No matter how many of these critters there were, they wouldn’t last long once too many people started hunting them. So this sweet gig probably wouldn’t last more than a few days.

Who knows—maybe tomorrow the old village chief would organize a team to catch them, and all of it would go to the village collective.

(End of Chapter)